I’ve not really done any ‘camping’ before.
Because you can’t compare all the many hours that I spent on survival training, or camping out in mountain ranges, or in deserts, or in the arctic circle, from the days I used to wear a uniform and carry a sidearm for a living.
And by the same token you can’t really compare the nights (sometimes days) that I slept occasionally inside a tent, sometimes outside a tent, and sometimes neither inside nor outside a tent, at various music festivals.
So when, in mid-August, we stuffed the car to its limit (four humans, one six-month Spaniel puppy, an eight-man tent, and many, many camping-related accessories – not to mention food!), and trundled down to sunny Cornwall for a week of living under canvas, it was something of a shock to the system.
A shock to my system, at least.
The campsite had everything it promised, including being delightfully dog-friendly. The well-provided dog-walking fields were terrific for Robyn to zoom around in, and the dog shower was lovely for her. Keeping her in the tent was interesting (she can wriggle through the smallest gaps). On the penultimate day she did manage to put a sharp claw through our airbed, but it was still all part of the camping-with-dog experience.
The beach was (very) nearby and equally dog-friendly. There was a large freshwater stream that ran through the beach down to the sea, which Robyn spent many happy hours running and splashing about in. The whole beach, sea, sand, freshwater stream experiences were all new to her, but she coped with it all very well.
The weather held for us through the week. There was some minor sunburn (my left leg), but overall the weather was the ‘just bearable side of very hot’.
As for trips out/away from the area we were staying, we ventured into Newquay (ugh! It was full of people on a hot day and it wasn’t a good place for either Robyn or me). We also drove up to Tintagel, crossed the bridge, walked the Castle, and took the many, many steps down into the cove.
I have many memories of the week.
One of these memories is of waking up, freezing cold but fighting a losing battle with a full bladder at 3am, struggling out of the tent (which was damp from overnight dew), while the dog did her very best to trip me up because getting up at 3am is her NEW FAVOURITE THING!
But if that’s my biggest discomfort with the week (and I think it was), then I had a cracking week camping in Cornwall. With three other humans. And a six-month old Spaniel.